1000 Days at the Chateau
by Jacqueline Boutade
Summary: In the time of Casanova, in France Guy, Marquis de Chatillon has, as his ancient right, the ability to select any of the young women from the villages of his estate for one thousand days to enjoy as he wishes. Guy selects Valentine, just 17, the prettiest girl for miles as his contracted mistress. Will he fall in love with her and keep her once the contact has expired?


One Thousand Days – Chapter One: the Contract

He had been watching the girl for many years, he realised, there on the same corner of the square with her flowers and wan smile. Beneath the grime and the verging malnutrition there was a beauty that would never flower under her current conditions, in fact it would be snuffed out by hardship once she married and bore children. He'd taken to watching her from his horse as he made his visits to his estates, including her small fortified village. She was always in the same spot, the same dress and pinafore, shabby and worn but clean. Her hair was long and probably golden when clean and shone in the sun but he never saw her hair shine, only noted the curls pushing free around her face, escaping her once white bonnet. Possibly she could be beautiful but here on the streets of Chatillon eking out a paltry existence selling flowers he surmised were stolen from his own estates, she was just another waif; poor, although more attractive than the others but still destined for a life of hardship and early death.

Today, as he lingered, having distributed wages and collected taxes from his peasants, he watched the girl at his leisure. She seemed entirely unaware of his presence, let alone his gaze. She sold posies of wild flowers, single sunflowers and trios of roses. Her basket slowly emptied and her younger sister sat quietly by her side, knowing she was destined to take this spot once her sister was married off to one of the many young men around the village courting her interest. He doubted other flower sellers in the village enjoyed her success. He looked at the young sister: she would not either. The flower girl was a rare beauty.

He dispatched his man-servant to the local hostelry. Tethering his horse, he strode towards the girl, buying her largest sunflower, paying three times the price. He insisted she keep the money, she demurred but shyly acquiesced to his firm insistence. She found it hard to meet his gaze and he liked that. She spoke softly and he liked that too. His hand had touched hers briefly in the exchange of money and he had liked the way her small hand had felt in his for that brief moment. His mind was made up by the time his servant reappeared with the necessary information.

Three crooked streets away from the town centre where the flower girl sat he found her home; a small two storey, two room cottage tucked in the shadows of the street. Inside the stone floor was uneven and the immense fireplace held a small fire and iron pot with some foul smelling concoction simmering away. In the corner a woman worn down by the despair of her life sat nursing a young child. Near the fire three children sat playing jacks, grubby and scrawny. It was as he expected.

'Madam, your husband?'

She began to courtesy but he waved her down. 'I wish a word with your husband, where can I find him?'

She gestured upstairs to the single room above, and so he followed his servant up the narrow steep stairs to find a shabby unshaven man collapsed on the only bed in the room. He did not seem to be asleep. The man-servant pushed him roughly to rouse his attention.

'I have a proposition for you.'

Some moments later the gentleman was back in the room where the mother sat impassively, almost unaware of the importance of her guest, although of course she knew who he was. She'd seen him many times, once this close before. He stopped by her chair, taking her face in his hand. She had been a beauty once: he could see her daughter's features marked by age, children and poverty. He realised with a shock that she was not much older than he was. He placed a heavy bag of coins in her hand, folding her fingers around the rich cloth.

'I have made an arrangement regarding your daughter. Your husband is in full agreement. I will pay him twice the amount she earns selling my flowers for the time she is with me. I have agreed to re-employ your husband in the smithy, providing he abandons the drink. I have engaged her services from the day she turns seventeen, next Wednesday, I believe? She shall be part of my household for one thousand days and we shall see what we shall see after that.'

The woman felt the weight of the coins in her hand and could only nod. She knew the stories about such arrangements up at the chateau but it had been many years since a village girl had been chosen. Something told her to refuse, but she knew she could not; once the marquis had chosen there was no discussion. She shrugged: thus it was ever so.

'I will be good to your daughter. I can offer her much more than you and I am willing to pay. This is for you. My arrangement with your husband is separate but you deserve better. This matter will benefit us all.'

She smiled at him, knowing there was nothing she could say: her husband had decided, besides what sort of life was there in this house for her eldest daughter? Once there had been moments of happiness but they had flown when her eldest son died five years ago. Perhaps God had forgiven her after all this time?

'Please inform your daughter, madam. I will send my man for her next Wednesday. Make sure she is ready. I expect her to be pleased.' He offered his hand and she kissed it, noting the softness of his skin and the delicate perfume of his handkerchief.

His perfume was still in the air when Valentine returned with her empty flower basket and a baguette for lunch to share with her family. She was surprised to find her mother smiling, clutching a small velvet bag to her breast.

'I have something important to tell you, my dearest. It will change everyone's life, especially your own. Be happy, as I am for you. Come, sit by me and listen well.'

Valentine examined her feelings as she travelled the roads to the chateau. Her mother and sisters had cried as she left them this morning. Her father had nodded and almost smiled before going off soberly to work. That was a sight to see! But she felt very little as she bounced along in the carriage, alone for the first time in her life. She found the movement of the carriage soothing, the jostle from the road a calming balm to her already exhausted spirit. She was just seventeen, yet she felt as tired as her mother looked. How could she be sad at leaving her life behind? She would miss her mother and her sisters but surely she would be able to visit them, or they would come to the chateau?

Outside the comfortable confines of the carriage the sun was bright and warm in the sky. The fields were a lush green, the crops of corn and vines testament to the fecundity of the region. Cattle grazed in rolling pastures and there were collections of geese and ducks at every farm house she past. She loved the profusion of flowers: in window boxes, great fields of sunflowers yearning towards the sun; the roses and the mixed colours of the wildflowers. She had never seen so many flowers and it warmed her heart to see the beauty of the countryside and to know that much of what she could see was the dominion of the marquis, of the man she was now pledged to. She hoped the sun and beauty of her journey bode well for her future.

She was nervous as the carriage turned into the avenue of poplars that led to the grandeur of Chateau Chatillon. She had met the marquis so briefly that day that she barely remembered what he looked like, only the memory of his soft hands and perfume, like lavender water stayed in her mind. She was not sure if he was handsome or how old he was, or really why she had been chosen and what would happen next. What she knew irrefutably was that her family would now be all right, that her mother would at last be able to feed her sisters and buy some new clothes and even some flowers for the house. Whatever was to come, the smile on her mother's face and the brightness in her voice since the marquis' visit would make everything tolerable. Although why she should worry that things might need to be tolerated was another thing. Part of her disquiet as the horses made their way along the avenue was that she knew it was about her supposed beauty, that she had no skills to offer the household of the chateau, nothing other than her meagre self to bring to the marquis. A shiver of unease passed over her soul as the horses stopped on the gravelled courtyard. What was to happen to her?

Valentine had not really expected him to meet her, but she was surprised nevertheless that he was not amongst the collection of people awaiting her. She recognised the marquis' man-servant and he bowed as she alighted, taking her hand and tiny bundle of possessions. She felt very small in the shade of the grandness of the building, even of the grandness of the servants, all of whom were better dressed and perfumed than anyone she had met in her life.

'Welcome Mademoiselle. I hope your journey was pleasant. Let me introduce Madame Mathilde who will tend to your needs and advise you in how to serve our master. This is Rene who will attend to any heavy business you may have, such as tending your fire or moving your bureau to suit you better. And I am Jacques, the marquis' personal attendant. I have been instructed to oversee your early days with us and liaise with the marquis.' He caught her quizzical look and smiled benevolently. 'It will be some time before you are ready for the marquis but we will tend to your needs and prepare you. But he is a whimsical man, he may see you before nightfall, who knows?'

She smiled as best she could, his kindness was genuine but she felt suddenly terribly alone and terribly young. How laughable to think that she had believed seventeen would mark her as a woman, able to make her own way in the world. She was only conscious of how shabby she was, how she must smell and how out of place she was. She wasn't even fit to be a servant, let alone be looked after by them.

Mathilde seemed to sense some of her unease, stretched out her hand in a gesture of welcome. 'Come child let's get some food into you, a bath and then you can inspect your room and let Rene know what he can do to help you. Master Jacques has much to do. Come with me.'

They walked through the tall doors to the vast reception area of the chateau, where a glorious circular staircase dominated the vista. It's marble and iron intricacies arched upwards and around in a sweeping graceful motion that seemed to her just like magic. She had only seen narrow wooden or irregular stone steps before this moment. Her eyes were drawn upwards to the light, falling into the vast chasm of space, spilling in through lead light and stained glass windows. The effect in the air was magical, the light falling like gold on all the items in the vast entrance space: the velvet chaises, the bureaux, the walnut tables, the gilt mirrors reflecting and amplifying the light such that she thought she would never see such an enchanting sight again.

The staircase led to suites of rooms, where the marquis and the dowager resided and guests stayed. On the ground floor she would find a ballroom, two dining rooms, an orangery, a library, a music room, several reception rooms, reading rooms and downstairs a vast kitchen and cellar. On the third floor, atop the resplendent building were the myriad servant quarters, with their stairs discretely running through the darker recesses of the chateau. To the rear were the stables and many other out-buildings. Surrounding it all were magnificent gardens, fountains, lakes and beautiful trees, with many pathways and seats.

In the kitchen Mathilde directed Valentine to sit at the vast pine table, where she was given bread, cheese, fresh tomatoes and cold chicken, plus a glass of red wine. She ate ravenously, unable to remember when she'd eaten fresh bread or meat. She found Mathilde laughing at her and she felt ashamed and stopped. She had no manners at all!

'It's all right, child. It's good to see you eat. I guess you haven't had much of a chance to eat freely, have you?'

She shook her head, tearing a hunk of bread to press to the cheese. She looked around the kitchen noticing the array of pots and crockery, preserves and jars of things she had never seen before. She drank the wine, assuming, without knowing, it was an excellent quality. 'Good local produce,' Mathilde nodded. 'Most of it grown here. We have an excellent cook and kitchen staff.'

Valentine's room was on the second floor off to the west, where the marquis's rooms were. She hoped for a glimpse of him as she followed Mathilde to her room. Rene waited in case they needed any more water for the bath or if the fire was satisfactory.

In terms of the chateau her room was relatively modest; after all she was a peasant girl, not a visitor of any status or interest: why should she have one of the better rooms? However, for her it was paradise: a room as big as her house. There was a four poster bed with white linen, two goose down pillows, woollen blankets and a heavy brocade cover, in the softest shade of pink, to match the drapery of the bed and the curtains. The windows were floor to ceiling and looked over the rose garden with the dolphin fountain and further out to the woods, where the marquis loved to hunt, Rene told her. Her fireplace was large and the mantle carved stone with images from ancient Greece. The fire was burning and a neat pile of wood was on the hearth. In front of the fire was her bath, full of hot water and perfumed with roses and oils.

It was utterly over-whelming. She had never seen anything like it in terms of size, features or beauty. She felt small again and unworthy and somewhat frightened. This was not normal, not for a girl such as her. She had no right to be in this place.

Mathilde smiled. 'It's all right. It is. Now remove your clothes and get into the bath. I will send Sophie to soap your back and wash your hair.' She looked at her hair. 'It may be a long bath,' she chuckled. 'Then we'll do something about these clothes.' Mathilde gathered them up as she left Valentine alone to take her first bath, her first hot bath with perfumes and soaps.

Sophie was not as kind or patient as Mathilde. She scrubbed Valentine's skin until it was red, pulling at her hair so hard that clumps came out. 'You have so much grime on you it will take one hundred baths to remove it,' she complained. 'And your hair is disgusting. I think it should be shaved off and you can start again.' Valentine was mortified by the colour of the water when she finally stepped from the bath. The dirt and grime of years rending the water almost black. All traces of rose and oils obliterated by the years of neglect.

She felt the softness of the towels against her skin and started to feel better. How was she to know how filthy she was? Mathilde scolded Sophie and settled to combing Valentine's hair, pulling gently on the knots, allowing the curls to bounce sweetly around her shining face. Valentine looked into the mirror and barely recognised the girl she saw there.

It was much later than she realised as she dressed for bed. But she was hungry again and very appreciative of Rene's sudden appearance with a tray of thick onion soup, more bread, some potatoes, tomatoes and slices of cold pork. She ate with less haste now at a table overlooking the garden, able to savour the food, enjoy the wine. Even the sweetness of the water was soothing to her impoverished stomach and taste buds. She had to admit that her first day, for it was now seven in the evening and she had left her home eleven hours ago, had been filled with kindness and riches. She looked forward to sleeping in a bed, dreaming of fine food and warm baths.

As her dinner was cleared Jacques appeared at her door. 'The master will see you now.'

She was surprised, after all Jacques had intimated it might be some time before she and the marquis were formally acquainted. She wrapped her new plum coloured velvet dressing gown around her bed-dress and followed Jacques along endless passages until they came to an imposing set of doors. He knocked and ushered her inside.

The marquis sat in a room that surpassed her own quarters in every detail but she was too overwhelmed by the occasion to take much notice of her surroundings. The marquis watched her from the moment she entered the room, never taking his eyes from her as she made her cautious way to him. Behind her Jacques and Mathilde silently entered the room, closing the doors, knowing they were privy to very private matters.

Valentine stopped in front of him, standing completely still. He stood, extending his hand. She bobbed a short courtesy and kissed his hand. 'Welcome Valentine. I do hope you like it here and that you have been looked after.' He gestured for her to pirouette before him. 'I can see that there have been some improvements already. Tell me, do you read, can you write?'

She nodded. 'A little of both, sir. My mother taught me something of books and I have written letters for my father. But not much to speak of.'

'Then you shall learn. Jacques, find a tutor. She must know more than the basics of anything. She needs Art and History, good literature when she is ready. I'd like some music lessons too. I think that would be useful. Can you dance? No, probably not. Dancing lessons, too then, Jacques.'

He stepped away from her, walking round her as if studying her. 'Remove your robe,' he instructed. He examined her again. 'Now your gown.' She blushed and looked to Mathilde who nodded. She untied the ribbon at her throat letting the soft flannel of her nightgown fall to the ground. She stood with her arms awkwardly at her side, her nakedness for all to see. The marquis walked around her again, peering closely at her body, running his finger down her pronounced spine, tapping her ribs, pinching the flesh of her bottom but he seemed to look not just at her flesh but beyond, into her soul. He examined her hand, caressing her shoulder, touched her hair, looked into her mouth. She felt more like a horse than a girl.

'It's good that you blush, it means you are modest and I like modesty in a woman. Cloth yourself now and take a seat by the fire.' He turned to Mathilde. 'She needs nourishment, feeding up. She is too scrawny for my liking so you must attend to that. And she is too coarse, her hair, her skin – all must be much softer, more refined before I will consider her seriously for this adventure. Tend to her manners too. She must know how to behave as well as how to look the part. See to it.'

Mathilde nodded and made to leave.

'A bath every day if need be,' the marquis commanded. 'I know how extravagant that sounds and you are not to mention heating costs or water to me. Just do it. I want her fragrant and lovely by the end of the month. The other matters can take a little longer.' He smiled for the first time, looking to where she sat. 'I find myself impatient,' he chuckled.

Jacques and Mathilde left and he turned to Valentine, sitting completely still, entranced by the fire, staring at the images flickering therein, just as she used to do at her home to pass the time.

He took her hand and kissed it. 'I am Guy de Chatillon, Marquis of Chatillon, your lord and master. Do you know why you are here?'

'I am not certain, sir,' she shrugged. 'My mother only said I had to be modest, not speak unless spoken to and hopefully good fortune would follow. I was to do as you bid me and not bring shame upon myself, my family, God or your good self.'

He smiled. 'A fine answer. I think we will get along. I have bought you for myself for one thousand days, as is my right. In that time I will teach you many things and if I like how you learn from me I will reward you.'

Her eyes lit up. 'Will you take me to Paris?'

He laughed. 'Possibly but you have much to learn before then. And Paris is not as wonderful as they say here in the provinces. Venice is better, Venice is beautiful, as you will be.'

She blushed again.

'We have a contract then,' he said. 'I made one with your father and was kind to your mother, now I am finalising the accord with you. I will provide for you, teach you and you will be mine for at least one thousand days.'

Valentine considered his words quietly. She wasn't sure what it all meant, but how could she ask questions of him? She nodded, taking his proffered hand. 'And what happens after that?'

'Indeed,' he said, returning his interest to the fire. Her interview was over, she was dismissed.


End file.
